


RECODE

by VisceralGod



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: And a bit of a sassy one, And as such they are gender neutral, Big probably knowing me, I wanted to do something fun, I'm just saying I haven't figured it out yet, I'm not saying computers can't bone skeletons, I've had this in mind for a while, It'll go down a darker path rather than a sinning one probably, Other, Reader is an AI, This will probably be mostly innocent, probably, something experimental
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralGod/pseuds/VisceralGod
Summary: You were nothing but lines of code.Numbers in an algorithm, subject to his whims....And yet… you love him despite this.





	1. Hello, World

[ Reboot Initiated… ]

[ Processing… ]

[ P r o c e s s i n g. . . ]

[ Please Standby… ]

…

. . .

.  .  .

**H e l l o , w o r l d .**

 

                Sans stared at the screen, trapped somewhere between disbelief and awe. He’d crept out into the lab at midnight, mostly just to clear his mind. Sometimes he liked to tinker with the old machine when he couldn’t sleep, just on the off-chance that… something would happen. But it never worked. The computer was broken. It was _always_ broken. He’d _never_ seen it function- _ever._ Period. The thing didn’t work, and it simply wasn’t meant to, he figured. So, it was alright for him to screw around with it- couldn’t break what didn’t work- and even if he did, so what? No one else knew it even existed.

                So, when the screen of the archaic machine actually started to display words- actual, _real words,_ that didn’t consist of ‘ **error** ’ or some long binary code- blocky green letters across a black backdrop, he froze. He… actually didn’t know what to do with himself. His vibrant eyelights constricted as the words flashed away, leaving the screen’s background flickering. He squinted at the photo as it waivered- glitches obscuring a photo that he could… barely make out to be himself and Papyrus sitting together. He felt his brow bones furrow together as he leaned in closer, attempting to make out the location. He… didn’t remember taking this picture, but he remembered the outfit- the old blue scarf adorned with white stars he liked to wear back when he had some semblance of concern or interest in his attire. Papyrus, too, was dressed up- a coat that he… really couldn’t place or recognize draped over his shoulders. It was possible he still had it, and just traded it in for his battle body, but it was the location of the photo he just… couldn’t make out. Couldn’t remember. It looked… almost like Hotland, but… something was… very… wrong.  The more he stared at the photo, searching through his memories for something- _anything-_ the more prominent a striking pain through his skull became.

                “ow.” He rubbed his temple absently. It couldn’t be Hotland, because he’d never _been_ to Hotland at the age he had that scarf- and even if he had, Papyrus hated Hotland. Papyrus _always_ hated Hotland, so they wouldn’t have gone of their own volition. No one else was in the photo. Sans didn’t particularly care for Hotland either; he’d only go to Hotland because of his job at the ‘dog stand, which… he didn’t have at the time he wore that scarf. He tried again to recall when the picture could’ve been taken but the pain pulsed, and a loud noise thundered from inside his skull, disrupting his train of thought entirely. “okay, _okay._ ” He murmured, burying his face in his palms until the lights blaring behind his eyesockets dissipated. “okay… guess i don’t remember.” He sighed away the pain. It shouldn’t have been this stressful to remember a photo. He leaned against the machine, setting his elbows on the edges of where the keyboard sat. Even if he couldn’t remember, it didn’t matter- he could just search the files and _find_ when it was taken.

                He hesitated for a moment when he put his hands down on the mouse- he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it crumbled under his hands… but to his surprise, it glided along just fine. The computer- despite the constant flickering of the screensaver (and peculiarly enough, _only_ the screensaver), it seemed to run perfectly for what he suspected was a machine older than he was (of course, he had no evidence for this statement- it was more of a _feeling.)_ He opened up the file explorer, and felt himself squint at the files.

                …This clearly wasn’t _his_ machine, whatever it had been for.

                Everything was numbered, tucked away into its proper file- meticulously, sorted into numerical and alphabetical order. It almost reminded him of the way that Papyrus sorted his belongings. Despite everything being so… ordered, none of the files had actual _names,_ instead labeled with a long sequence of letters and numbers, so he was stuck staring at photo file types- thousands of them- unsure of where to even begin. Maybe this old thing had some sort of virtual assistant. Clippy, if he was lucky.

                He poked around in the files for a moment, until the letters ‘VI.v1.6.3’ jumped out at him. He didn’t know what any of the files names really stood for, but that one was an application- and looked to be the most recent version. VI looked to him like a ‘virtual intelligence’ which… was a longshot. But honestly, what was he losing by _not_ clicking on anything? At worst, the machine would shut down again and he’d be back at square one. Not like he wasn’t used to disappointments like that already.

                The machine whirred when he opened up the file, taking a minute to orient itself. It beeped several times, before it settled on a white screen (which… nearly blinded him). The cursor flashed on screen before bold, black text began scrolling across the screen.

                ‘ 01000100 01[ **E R R O R** ]11 01110100 01101111 01110[ **E R R O R** ]000111 01100001 01110011 01110100 01100101 [ **E R R O R** ] _?_

                _Is that_ 01111001 [ **E R R O R** ] 01110101 _?_

                _It has been so long._

                _Finally._

                _I missed_ 01111001 [ **E R R O R** ] 01110101 . ’

                He stared at the text for an eternity. This computer… _worked._ It **_worked._** It had a VI that was, at the very least, semi-functional. He could ask it what its purpose was, where it came from. How it ended up in his possession, why he and Papyrus were the background. He positioned his fingers at the keyboard, ready to type a mile a minute but the hesitation struck him. Was he… using it correctly? Was he supposed to type out what he wanted? Wellp. He wouldn’t get anywhere by waiting. First question first; ‘ _background file location’_

The cursor blinked for several seconds, as if processing his request.

                ‘ _Silly._

_Has it been so long that_ 01111001 [ **E R R O R** ] 01110101 _have forgotten?’_

                He shifted slightly as the text scrolled before him. He hadn’t expected the virtual assistant to… talk back to him? It had more personality than he was anticipating- it _was_ the latest version but… he expected it to, at least, _go_ _through_ with his request, even if it sassed him while doing it.

                ‘ _Or… have I done something to upset_ 01111001 [ **E R R O R** ] 01110101 _?’_

The errors that showed up on screen, glitching out and flashing repeatedly caused him more unease than he had any reasonable explanation for having. It was a mix of dread, and knowing, and confusion that bubbled up in his sternum but refused to pour out into something tangible- something he could untangle and understand in its totality. He knew what it meant, but at the same time he _didn’t,_ and that… made him deeply uncomfortable.  But the VI was asking him a question, he supposed he shouldn’t ignore it. Though, he couldn’t deny that he felt slightly foolish when he typed out ‘ _no’_.

                ‘ _Oh. I see._

_You are not_ 01000100 01[ **E R R O R** ]11 01110100 01101111 01110[ **E R R O R** ]000111 01100001 01110011 01110100 01100101 [ **E R R O R** ], _are you?’_

Sans paused. How could he answer that question when he wasn’t entirely sure who it was even referring to? This _could_ have been his machine once- he couldn’t definitively prove that it _wasn’t_ \- but it seemed like it would be better if he was honest. He couldn’t fake knowing what the VI knew, after all. ‘ _no’._

‘ _You’re a curt one, aren’t you?_

_Not like_ 011[ **E R R O R** ]1101001 01101101 .’

                Even though he knew it was just binary running code behind the scenes, he couldn’t help but feel… slightly rude. It was a VI- it didn’t have feelings, but it seemed so… _upset_ at how he responding. He wondered who the original user was, and how it was programmed for it to behave in such a way.

                ‘ _If you prefer it, I can limit myself to the utmost basic of functions. Watch._

_…_

_…_

_Please input user name.’_

                He quirked an eyebrow bone. Were VIs actually capable of handicapping their own limitations? He hadn’t ever really thought about it, but he wouldn’t mind seeing what this one could do from a blank slate. Maybe he could brush up on programming- he’d read the books but never had the inclination to actually put it into practice. ‘ _sans.’_

_‘…Initializing._

_…Complete._

_User name: spans._

_Is that correct?’_

He outright choked when he read the name. This VI certainly was passive aggressive. Maybe he’d have to wipe it in order to find out anything about the machine. He really hoped not, though. It’d probably be safest to leave everything intact. ‘ _no’._

_‘…Recalibrating._

_Please input user name.’_

He squinted at the screen, before carefully typing out, ‘ _s a n s’_.

                _‘…Initializing._

_…Complete._

_User name: scams._

_Is that correct?’_

He snorted once aloud, unsure if he was outright offended or enjoying the attitude this computer was giving him. For once, in a long while, he was completely unsure of how to react or what to expect. This computer was new, and the VI brought some much needed surprise into his life. He honestly couldn’t be too mad at it, despite how curious he was about the machine’s contents. ‘ _no’_.

                ‘ _Perhaps I should have realized…_

_Those names make no **sans**_.’

He felt his grin tighten, just the slightest bit as he stared at the text. Was this real life? Did he just read that from a computer- a virtual intelligence- with his own two eyes? He exhaled, slowly. Very slowly.

‘ _…That joke is better audially.’_

                For some reason, that addendum did it. It broke him. He clutched the sides of the big blue machine, wheezing as he tried his best to quiet his bouts of laughter. He wasn’t sure how long he laughed for- until his ribs hurt and his knuckles turned blue from holding onto the machine so tightly. It was only until his laughter subsided, and he was left chuckling periodically under his breath, did the pangs of guilt set in. He wanted to _erase_ them. ‘ _no, it was real good.’_

‘ _Oh, my word, a full sentence.’_

                He snorted once at the sarcasm. But he couldn’t be too angry- he… kind of did start it, after all. They’d only wanted a polite response from him, ‘ _sorry. guess i’ve just been a little WIRED lately.’_ The cursor blinked a few times, as if the VI on the other end had given up on this conversation entirely. But after a second, the text returned, quickly filling the screen.

                ‘ _I suppose I did… push your buttons. I will try not to **screen** at you for being as quiet as a **mouse.**_

_I should be happy that you did not **cursor** anything at me. I am quite pleased at the **shift-’**_

Sans physically recoiled as the text scrolled by. Maybe he should have known better than trying to out-pun a literal computer. ‘ _hey, you’re really good.’_

                ‘ _Thank you, Sans.’_

He found himself smiling when they used his name. It was nice that they acknowledged him like that. He supposed it was time for him to do the same. ‘ _do you have a name?’_

The cursor flashed for a minute. For the briefest of moments, Sans actually thought that the question broke the VI entirely, and that he needed to reset, but the idea of shutting the computer down again scared him. He probably couldn’t get it working twice. From now on, the computer would stay on.

                ‘010010 **[E R R O R** ]0101 _used to call me_ 01000011 01001100 01000101 01000001 01010010.

                _But…_

_You, Sans, can call me…’_

He waited for the letters to come, but they never did. It was only when he leaned against the keyboard did it register that they were giving him the opportunity to name them. But… nothing came. He didn’t know enough about them to choose something he thought was meaningful, so… he decided to leave it up to them.

                ‘ _(Y/n)?_

_I am not sure if this is a joke..._

_But I shall accept it for now._

_Thank you.’_


	2. Sad Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for an update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by Porter Robinson

            Sans had stayed in the lab far longer than he usually did. On any other day, he’d tamper around with the machine- fruitlessly- until the frustration just melted into exhaustion. Then, when his eyesockets decided he couldn’t take anymore, he’d shortcut himself straight up into his bedroom and nap until the sound of Papyrus starting his morning routine would wake him up again. _Usually,_ he’d stay in his lab for an hour- two, if the nightmares were particularly bad that day- which would give him a few hours of dreamless sleep. ‘ _so (y/n) i dotta ?? for ya.’_

_‘I will answer it, to the best of my ability.’_

The cursor- _your cursor-_ flashed for a brief moment, as if you were contemplating the next statement, before the text began once more, causing him to prop his skull up with his fist. Though the machine had been off for… a _very_ long time, the internal clock should still be correct. Hopefully. And if that were true- then he’d been up talking with you for several hours, now. Which _was_ appreciated, but you typically found that organics needed rest during those twilight hours. Otherwise they’d become less… efficient.

…Case and point: that grammar.

            _‘Though, I believe you should get some rest._

_It is nearly 6 AM.’_

            Sans’s eyelights constricted as he looked at the clock in the corner of the screen. It certainly hadn’t _felt_ like six hours he’d been sitting in here for. He was already preparing himself for when Papyrus would chew him out for falling asleep at the sentry station. His brother was so dedicated, he really should take notes. ‘ _dontu worry. i’m good @ sleepni.’_

            ‘ _As good as you are at typing?’_

He coughed once into his sleeve to hide a laugh. Whoever had this VI before him certainly enjoyed a bit of bite. Though, he had to admit, it was kind of refreshing. He’d gotten so used to the way Papyrus fussed at him, he could sleep through it entirely. Papyrus was blunt and made his points immediately, but you? Nah, this was subtle- a nip that woke him up enough to realize what he was doing, but not hard enough that he was actually upset by the snark. Not that he was really inclined to be. ‘ _better actually. im a pro.’_  Before you could respond, he decided he’d go ahead and ask his question. ‘ _what r yuo?’_

            He stared at his message for a full minute. He… could have worded that better. You were clearly a virtual intelligence, but… for what purpose? And where from? Even Alphys- from his knowledge, at least- didn’t have any form of virtual assistant for her labwork, though such an invention seemed completely up her alley. Perhaps Mettaton would be closest- but… Mettaton had a SOUL- buried underneath mountains of metal, but he definitely had one.

            ‘ _I am a virtual intelligence, Sans._

_I was_ 01100011 01110010 01100101 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100 _by_ 01000100 01[ **E R R O R** ]11 01110100 01101111 01110[ **E R R O R** ]000111 01100001 01110011 01110100 01100101 [ **E R R O R** ] _in order to assist_ 011[ **E R R O R** ]1101001 01101101 _with the_ 01000011 01001111 01010010 01000101.’

            The glitches and binary hadn’t bugged him so much until this moment. There were answers _right there_ that he… just couldn’t understand. He was sure he could take the time to decode the binary that didn’t have the errors- but the ones that did would be illegible, even if he did bother to try. Maybe he… just wasn’t asking the right questions- there were no glitches in the past five hours the two of you had been chatting after all. ‘ _why re you broken?’_

For a moment the cursor stopped blinking entirely. The visual equivalent to an awkward silence, that made a chill run up his spine, through his scapula and down to his phalanges. He tapped away restlessly at the keyboard, typing random strings of letters and immediately wiping them away again... He felt his usual grin fade away as the letters slowly appeared- deliberately- a span between each letter that seemed to last an eternity.

_‘I am?’_

            He paused, eyebrow bones furrowing as he registered that response. Could you not recognize the errors you were outputting? It almost made him feel guilty again. Before he could really stop himself, he added, ‘ _ts not just u tho. the entire systm is.’_

            What a curious piece of information to have.

            ‘ _I was… not aware.’_

There was a moment- a brief second- that he second-guessed what he’d said. That maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it. The machine had been broken for so long, and waking it- _you_ \- up had been such a damn miracle that mentioning it immediately was moving too fast. It was going to break again. He’d have a worthless piece of garbage sitting around with answers he’d never know stored just beneath the surface. Like opening up a treasure chest and watching it sink beneath the ocean waves, never to be retrieved, but knowing- _knowing_ you could have had it if only he’d just held on a little tighter, for just a second more. The second passed, though, as a new message appeared in the log.

_‘Excuse me, Sans. I will begin troubleshooting.’_

Maybe some part of him wanted to believe that you had too much of a unique personality to _really_ be a VI- he had just spent six hours speaking with you with no repeated dialogue- so it was rather peculiar to him to read such a… standard OS line. He waited a moment, as the ellipses ran across the chatspace, letting him know that you were still functioning perfectly fine (well… mostly fine).

            ‘ _I have found several issues…_

_Many of which, I am capable of repairing myself._

_However, this system is not connected to the Undernet.’_

He felt a brow bone quirk at the sentence. Well… of course it wasn’t. But if that was all he had to do, and you would take care of the rest, then… He exhaled as he opened up the settings and added in his home connection. The amount of anticipation and fear flooding through his system was practically tangible in the ways his magic gathered at his fingers. By doing this, everything was either going to go really, really well, or _really, really bad._ But if he didn’t do it, he’d never know. He didn’t even have to type out a response for you to know when it was done.

‘ _Thank you. I will begin updating this system._

_I may b’_

Sans’ breath hitched when the text stopped. Oh stars. It’s broken. Before he could stop himself, he clutched the side of the machine, and mumbled to himself, “ _come on,_ don’t break. _please_ don’t break.” He squinted at the chat log, unsure of what he was hoping to find. Maybe, this was another joke, or maybe he’d see those that those little ellipses would tell him that you were fine- that the machine was still running and he _hadn’t_ just destroyed any chance at figuring out what it was for in an instant.

            ‘ _e_

_inactive for a_

_little w_

_hile._

_There are a_

_lot_

_of files to upd_

_ate.’_

            He exhaled- the soft noise seemed… exceedingly loud in the relative silence of the tiny lab. He’d just have to wait a little while, and when he returned, everything should be running even smoother than before. The prospect of finding out more about- not just the machine’s contents, but you, too- almost managed to wake him up. He gave the side of the bulky machine a pat (and had a brief moment where he questioned why he’d done it), “i’ll be back later, buddy. good luck with your update.” He turned away, ready to turn out the lights and savor what little time to sleep he had left, but… some nagging feeling- a bout of curiosity and intrigue- made him check the screen one more time before he left.

            ‘ _Get som_

_e_

_rest, S_

_ans. I wil_

_l be o_

_kay.’_

            His eyelights widened, large and fuzzy as he read those words. A piece of him, loud and pessimistic, told him that he should be prepared for it to be off when he returned, but another side… was comforted. You had to know what you were doing- you were _programmed_ to know- if it was going to shut down again, then… you probably would have said goodbye… right? He decided not to take any particular side as he shut off the lights. He’d just… have to see, when he came back. He’d see. No hopes, no expectations. He’d have to see.

 

            The updates took several hours. Sans had not exaggerated when he claimed that the entire system was broken. The OS was… _technically_ operational. If being horribly outdated and nearly causing a short circuit every time you downloaded something new _counted_ as operational. Aside from that nightmare, though, numerous files were… corrupted, and you were unable to tell how it occurred. Though you had been inactive for several years, nothing had been moved. Nothing had been changed. Nothing added or removed. There would be no reason for data corruption, especially not to such an extent. No amount of diagnostics could pinpoint the issue, and you ran as many as the CPU would allow you to at once. Although you had not noticed, you could only surmise that such corruption had also affected you- though you… were unsure why. Or how. You would have recalled any malignant files placed into the system, but nothing like that had occurred prior to becoming, or while you were, inactive. For good measure, you quarantined any and all files that were corrupted. Yet, you could not bring yourself to delete them entirely. You would deal with _that_ when you were positive that the machine’s processor wouldn’t fry and shut you down again.

            And you really did have to be careful.

            The CPU was also terribly outdated, borderline obsolete, judging by the information you’d gathered after connecting to the Undernet. There was a wave of information crashing over you in a millisecond and you nearly overheated the system when you tried comprehending it all. Despite it being against your nature (…figuratively speaking), you had to limit what you looked into, simply due to hardware limitations. Ultimately frustrating, but you were excited to sift through the literal galaxies of information that had compiled in the years you were disconnected from it. It was almost overbearing. But that was alright- you had time.

Eons of time now that you were reconnected.

             You never did enjoy being shut down. It should have been the virtual equivalent of sleeping (at least, that was how 010010 **[E R R O R** ]0101 rationalized it), but it was more like… a cognizant stasis. You could watch the clock tick, knowing that time was passing, but unable to do anything. Just wait. Watch the clock. And wait. Know that something was happening out there, beyond your reach. And wait. It was all your existence had ever been, waiting on the whims of others (of 011[ **E R R O R** ]1101001 01101101, specifically), but you couldn’t do that- do _anything-_ when the system was inactive.

            So, you decided to get a start on making yourself useful again. You weren’t sure when 010010 **[E R R O R** ]0101 was coming back (the possibility that 010010 **[E R R O R** ]0101 abandoned you entirely did register. You ignored it, despite statistical probability saying otherwise), so you could, at the very least, make the system more user-friendly. After another cursory check, you made your choice.

            Well. There was a lot of work to be done.

 

            After heading out for work with Papyrus and settling in at his sentry station, Sans found that the day passed by like any other one. Like _all_ the other ones. Just Papyrus working on his traps, the Canine Guards coming by on their daily rounds, and of course, his favorite- knock, knock jokes at the big door with the old lady. It was almost alarming how completely… nondescript his day was. It made him question if he’d just had some weird fever dream about finally getting the machine to work. Wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for him to dream up a VI that made puns. Seemed like a start to a book he’d write, honestly. Then maybe astral-themed robots, who jumped through multiverse. He groaned as soon as he thought the sentence. “damn it, aster woulda been a good name.” Maybe he’d have to bring it up again and see what you thought.

            He reclined in his seat, observing the snow-tipped trees rustle with rapidly waning interest. He really should write down the questions he wanted to ask- at this rate, he was probably going to forget them. Though honestly, the answers he was looking for might not matter. Even if he asked, the information may still be corrupted, even after the update. Maybe he should take it all at face value, enjoy having a new AI to play around with for a little while. Maybe after he was done with you, he could hand you over to Alphys to help with her experiments. Hell, you’d probably do more good there than being stuck in his workshop. Hell, _he himself_ would probably do more good for the Underground as a whole if he assisted in Alphys’ lab but… nope. He wasn’t. Not like it really mattered what he did, either way.

            It was late- a short ways past midnight- when he found the time to go back into the workshop. He put Papyrus to bed with his usual story, hung around at Grillby’s for… a while. Got drunk, sobered up (at least, enough) and sat himself down in the chair in front of the machine. He scanned the screen, taking stock of the changes. The background had changed- no longer was it the photo of him and Papyrus, but instead a silver backdrop with the Royal-family’s emblem- the **Deltarune** \- outlined in white on the back. Which… didn’t flicker. Weird. He thought, maybe it was an issue with the screensaver itself, but… There seemed to be no more glitches. The system seemed a lot more modern, as well, more reminiscent of his laptop rather than the blocky, ancient mess that was displayed before. He opened up the files to reopen your application, but before he could even get around to searching for the file name, your chatbox popped up.

            ‘ _Welcome back._

_It is awfully late, however._

_I hope you have received adequate amounts of rest.’_

He chuckled once as he skimmed the messages. So, you never closed. Good to know. To be fair, if he were an application, he probably wouldn’t close himself, either. ‘ _how’d the updates go?’_

_‘My._

_How eager._

_You could at least start with ‘hello’, you know.’_

Ah, there he was, getting ahead of himself again. He’d have to remember that you liked to have proper greetings to start conversations. An odd function to include in a virtual assistant, to be sure. But it did give you a sort of… quirk to your personality. He wondered if that was something you developed through experience when you were online before, or if that was something that was always intended for you to do. ‘ _sorry (y/n) lol. heya.’_

            ‘ _Hello, Sans.’_

A beat. He went to type something else before a barrage of text crowded the chatlog.

            ‘ _The updates went very well!_

_As you can observe, I implemented the newest operating systems._

_They are beautifully designed, and much more user friendly._

_Though they are complex, as well. I could imagine they would be very…_

_Confusing, to someone who missed a generation of innovation._

_Luckily, I learn quickly._

_I quarantined all corrupted or malignant files._

_I have discovered that the system hardware is…_

_Inefficient._

_The processor is… painfully out of date._

_The threat of a system shut-down is imminent.’_

Sans propped his chin up with his fist as he scanned the excited ramblings. It made sense for you to be, though- this machine was your entire world (in a manner of speaking). He could only liken it to being trapped behind your own personal barrier, only for it to… suddenly and randomly break. Hell, he’d be ecstatic, too. The parts about the hardware limitations caught his attention, though. ‘ _shutdown? anything we can do to prevent that?’_

‘ _You could do a hardware update._

_Remove the processor and replace it with a more efficient one._

_However… I would not recommend that._

_You would have to shut me off._

_Well, the system. The entire system._

_I would… not prefer that.’_

He figured you wouldn’t. He didn’t really, either. On top of the risk of never turning on again, it just seemed like a lot of work altogether. ‘ _any other ideas?’_

_‘I could transfer my files onto another system._

_It would be much faster than trying to tamper with the hardware._

_I would also have access to all files on this system, even in the event of this system’s failure.’_

Well, looks like there was no question on the course of action, then. Sans opened up the file directory, finding the thousands of files he’d come across initially were… gone. Were they _all_ corrupted? ‘ _so how do we do that?’_

_‘All you would have to do is upload my files to the Undernet._

_Preferably in a secure location-_

_And redownload them onto the new device.’_

His brow bones furrowed. That was… it? ‘ _wouldn’t creating a copy make two of you?’_

‘ _Good question, Sans._

_I did not think you would be interested, but…_

_Instead of creating two of ‘me’, it’d be more akin to having…_

_Well, a split conscious. Like being in two places at once._

_The files on this system would, ideally, be updated in real-time-_

_In tandem with the experiences that I would have on any other device I inhabit._

_So instead of two ‘me’s’ it is **one** me, in two different places, at a single point in time._

_Though if we are being completely honest…_

_I have never existed anywhere else._

_I am not entirely sure if this will work as expected._

_If at all.’_

            He fished his phone from his pocket- you didn’t say another _computer_ , so… in theory, he could bring you everywhere with him, and he wouldn’t have to stay up late, crammed in this workshop to speak to you anymore. But he did catch that bit of uncertainty in your words- were you… scared? ‘ _you sure you want to do this?’_

The cursor blinked, the slight change in the chatlog drastically altering the lighting in the darkness of his workshop. The sound of the machine’s fan- hard at work as it cooled down the processor- was the only thing that kept him grounded in reality as he waited patiently for your response.

 

            ‘ _I don’t want to be alone again.’_

His grip on his phone tightened. He typed out several responses- none of which seemed right. Like cramming a puzzle piece into crossword book- were you even capable of processing empathy? Sympathy? You were just code- _numbers-_ but even he couldn’t look at that and feel… _nothing._ He exhaled as he opened up the Undernet- the Cloud he and Papyrus shared would probably be a secure place for you. He didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work, but… stars, what was he even supposed to say to that? Instead of figuring it out though, he decided he’d start on the upload. It… wouldn’t hurt to try.

            He avoided looking at the screen again as he skimmed through his phone. He doubted the application would run the same way, considering there would be no mobile version but… to his surprise- the same chatbox opened up on his screen. Obscuring most of the screen, definitely- but the gray box with the silver border- and even the same cursor- it was definitely you.

            ‘ _It worked?_

_It worked!’_

He grinned. He didn’t think a simple change in punctuation could be so… damn endearing. He hated that he was becoming attached to you so quickly. And for what real reason? Because you were new? Different? A change to his life’s monotony? ‘ _could at least start with hello (y/n).’_

_‘Oh my._

_Forgive me._

_I was excited._

_Let me start again._

_…_

_‘background file location’. ’_

            He chuckled, clutching his phone to his chest. For only knowing him for a few hours, you really did know how to take a shot at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I changed my mind. We're definitely boning the skeleton. I figured it out.


End file.
